Angel's Song is Luring (So Careful, for a Human's Love is Deadly)
by fakescorpion
Summary: Castiel's thoughts on angel/vessel relationships during questionably consensual sex. Extremely eerie atmosphere and non-graphic depictions of violence, psychological issues, moral dissonance, implied drug use, with an unhealthy dose of folklore. Set in the universe of 5x04 The End, a companion piece to "When Your Angel Sings"


_disclaimer: I don't own SPN or any of its characters._

_Castiel's thoughts on angel/vessel relationships during questionably consensual sex. Extremely eerie atmosphere and non-graphic depictions of violence, psychological issues, moral dissonance, implied drug use, with an unhealthy dose of folklore._

_Set in the universe of 5x04 The End, a companion piece to "When Your Angel Sings... __(Turn Away, for His Beauty is Blinding)_"  


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_**Angel's Song is Luring... (So Careful, for a Human's Love is Deadly)**_

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The beads felt heavy in his hands as if they were made from lead, but at once so very rough like sandpapers. Dozens of stringed beads draped over the doorway of his cabin blocking his entrance, in a state when he was already having great difficulty standing upright, it seemed especially taxing to push the beads aside.

One step. Two.

An emptied flask of some unidentified hard liquor fell from his loose fingers onto the carpeted floor with a soft pang! and in a daze, he accidently kicked over bottled pills that seemed to always lie around the most random of places. The contents were sent spilling out.

Three steps. Four.

His vision wasn't nearly focused enough, bright colors kept flashing at his peripheral but everything else was too dark for him to make out clearly. The room was too cold and too oppressing, and his lungs were too thick and too warm. He was having trouble breathing and he wanted to fly to July or maybe August. But it shouldn't feel so cold and oppressing, because it already was July or maybe August, and his wings were clipped for so many years now.

Five ste-

Cas found himself on the floor, disoriented. The single bed and the warmth of his blanket were still a few steps to his left, and so very far away.

How stoned are you? Nobody asked. Nobody sounded like Chuck, sometimes.

Shutting his eyes, Cas turned, rolled onto his back and threw back his head laughing hysterically. Nine, probably, on the scale of one to ten, if he was already hallucinating voices in his head. And veering dangerously close to nine-point-five. (He was still conscious, so it wasn't ten out of ten, yet.)

The carpet felt uncomfortably stringy under his fingertips. There was a dried whiskey stain two inches away from where he had collapsed, from two days or two weeks ago. This cabin was a cage. This camp was a cage. This world was a cage. Cas thought. Or maybe, it was this skin and bone and blood, that were holding him captive.

How stoned are you? Nobody asked. Now nobody sounded like Daniel, or Madelyn, or Christina, or Kylie, or one of the two dozen other women in the camp that come in and out of his cabin as they pleased. So nobody had a chance of actually be somebody this time, and that he was just too high to tell reality from hallucinations. "Go away," Cas groaned covering his face with a hand, he didn't want to be impolite but he was not all here enough to deal with anyone right now, and bright lights were still dancing on bad acid behind his lids.

Then he felt cold lips pressing against his shoulder, just below the clavicle where his plaid shirt wasn't covering skin, mouth closed and tentative. But Cas didn't look, eyes stubbornly refused to open, the creaky wooden boards under the rug screeched as he shifted his weight. The lips moved to his exposed throat when he turned his head to the side, freezing, like the metallic of a blade.

Cas wondered how fast he would bleed out if a knife sliced through his carotid.

"Can you sing?" Raspy, almost grating, like barren wind blowing through a hollow on broken barks of sullen trees. There was an empty echo to that voice. Can you sing? Can you sing? Can you sing?

"Sorry. I can't."

His voice was taken from him many years ago, when his wings were clipped.

"Sing for me. Castiel. Please."

Sing for me? Sing for me? Sing for me?

The lips moved ever gently to the side of his mouth. Cas turned away.

"I can't, Jimmy. And you are probably not real."

Between the time he fell from Heaven and the time his wings got clipped, something had seriously gone wrong. And when Jimmy leaned over the fallen angel one last time to kiss him fully on the mouth, Cas didn't shy away again and instead meet the frosty lips with his much more warmer tongue, open-mouthed and heated and biting fervidly with his teeth.

Between Castiel and Cas, and his relationship with Jimmy.

Something had seriously gone wrong.

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_This story is incomplete on this site. Due to its MA rating, the COMPLETE STORY is posted at AO3 under the same title._


End file.
